


Divine Intervention

by SegaBarrett



Category: Slipknot
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corey finds himself in a fight, and ends up with help from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divine Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own or know Slipknot, and I make no money from this. RIP Paul Gray! You will be missed. This takes place late May 2010, a few days after the 24th.

The first thing that Corey noticed about the girl was that she looked a few years too young to be in a bar, on her own, at that time of night (or was it considered morning by now?).

She wasn’t causing any trouble, or really doing much of anything other than nursing a drink that very well could have just been a glass of Coke. Corey watched her with curiosity; after all it was better than downing another shot of Jack – Jim had made him promise that he’d not have to add an unconscious Corey to the monumental burden on his shoulders. But drinking was better than sitting around and thinking, and wanting to crawl out of his skin. 

Watching, however, seemed to beat drinking. And the girl looked as if she could have passed as a younger sister to Scarlett, oddly enough; _then again,_ Corey reasoned, _if you go back far enough everyone’s related, especially in Iowa._

He was lost in thought about this when the girl tapped him on the shoulder.

“Uh, hi,” Corey said, surprised, giving the smile he kept prepared for unexpected fan interruptions. 

“I just saw you sitting alone,” she offered, “I hope I’m not butting in.” She was tall, thin, and very attractive – though far too young, again, to interest Corey in that sort of way – and she had dazzling brown eyes. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Gina Kennedy.”

“Corey Taylor,” Corey replied, shaking her hand awkwardly. “You look a little young to be here.”

“Oh, everyone says that,” the girl gushed, “I’m nineteen. But I don’t drink.”

“Why a bar, then? And it’s 4AM,” Corey pointed out. 

“Oh, it’s better than the alternative,” Gina replied simply, taking another sip of her drink.

“I hear you,” Corey agreed, “You gonna be okay, though?” 

“I’m fine,” she said with a giggle. “But thanks.” The two went back to drinking silently, until an older man, obviously drunk, walked up to Gina and tapped her on the shoulder.

“You wanna sell you iPod?” he asked. Gina looked taken aback. 

“No,” she replied simply. 

“How much did you pay for it?” he continued.

“Hey, back off,” Corey cut in protectively. 

“It was a gift,” Gina said stiffly, and the man appeared to get the point and wandered away. All was silent until another man entered the bar, this one stalking with determination towards Gina. He was bulky and athletic-looking, and possibly a little older than Gina, with dark brown hair. 

“Gina,” he rasped. She looked up with a start.

“Mike.” The calm air of the last interruption was gone, and panic was evident in her face. Corey, despite his drunken haze, coiled and prepared to strike.

“Gina, you’ve got to come back to me.”

“No. I told you – it’s over.”

“Gina,” Mike reached out and grabbed her shoulder. Corey leapt out, his hand immediately over top of the younger man’s.

“She told you,” Corey hissed, his eyes going dark, the blues melting into grays. The man looked at Corey as if he hadn’t previously noticed he was there.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped.

“I’m Corey fucking Taylor,” the singer announced furiously. “So get your fucking hand off.”

“Oh,” Mike spat, “I remember you.” His eyes narrowed on Corey with a sadistic intent. “I have a great hotel room to rent you. You never need to check out.” Corey’s hand seemed to move of its own accord, somehow quicker than light as it found the other man’s neck and squeezed as the other curled into a fist and descended upon flesh. Somehow, though, Mike – perhaps due to the fact that he had several inches and about twenty pounds on Corey – broke free and the singer could see, but not feel, a hail of fists pummel against his chest. 

Somewhere in the background, Corey could see Gina run towards the door, but he didn’t entirely register it as he struggled to make his fists and knees obey the commands his mind was ordering to them.

Gina came back through the front door. Corey’s eyes drifted to her lazily before they caught a sight that made him stop fighting in shock and receive a painful hit to the chin. But it didn’t matter; it was the last connecting hit.

For standing in the doorway – and in a millisecond on top of Corey’s opponent – was the unmistakable figure of Paul Gray.

“What?” was all that Corey could get out of his mouth as he watched the scene, his brain reeling as he attempted to figure out which part of this was blowing his mind the most. He began to feel dizzy and wobble in his spot, feeling as if he was about to collapse. He noticed Mike’s body lying prostrate on the ground, presumably unconscious but, Corey thought bitterly, hopefully dead.

His wobble increased as the nausea built up in Corey’s chest; he could feel a firm hand grasp his back and keep him steady, though, a word in his ear, “It’s okay.”  
Corey looked up, his mind arguing recklessly with his eyes as he scanned in the brown eyes, the lip ring, the light brown skin – this couldn’t be real. 

“Mouth… say… words,” Corey sputtered, laughing nervously. He blinked, trying to consider this. “Am I dead?” Paul shook his head.

“No,” he said simply, “You’re okay, Corey.” 

“Then why…?” 

“Shh. It’d take too long to explain,” Paul whispered, “And we don’t have that much time.” Corey gulped and reached out, clutching the bassist as tightly as he could.

“I never got to say goodbye,” he whispered, choking back a sob.

“Neither did I,” Paul mumbled back, “But we don’t have to say it. Whenever you need me, I’m here. I’ll hear you.” He smiled and squeezed Corey tightly, teasing, “It’d be impossible not to.” 

“I love you,” Corey breathed against the bassist’s chest. 

“I love you, too,” Paul replied softly, “I’m always with you.” 

“You kicked that guy’s ass,” Corey mumbled, still dazed. “How?” Paul gave a half-shrug.

“Thanks. He had it coming.” He slowly let go of the singer and then looked down at the unconscious Mike, before spitting angrily on the ground. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have another stop to make,” he explained softly, “And I have to take GeGe home.” He gestured with his chin to the silent Gina. 

“When will I see you again?” Corey asked, “Is this even real?” Paul reached up and touched his own lip slowly, before removing his lip ring and cupping his hand to Corey’s.

“This is proof… You know who you can show it to,” he said simply. Corey smiled sadly.

“That’s gross,” he said as he turned over the metal in his hand. Paul chuckled. 

“It’s clean,” he promised, “OCD, remember?” He tightly gripped Corey one last time before letting go, whispering, “I won’t say goodbye, ‘cause it’s not goodbye.” There was a bright flash of light – like a flash bulb at one of their shows – and then he was gone. Corey closed his eyes and could feel himself hit the ground, but without any pain.

***

“Corey? Corey? Are you awake?” The soft, normally-calm voice awoke him with a start, and Corey opened one heavy eye to look up at Jim Root. 

“Hey,” he whispered painfully. “My chest hurts,” he mumbled, shaking his head slightly to try and clear it and remember where he was and why, actually, just about everything hurt. He was lying in a bed, somewhere – but where, Corey couldn’t begin to place. Where had he been before this?

“Yeah, I’d imagine,” Jim replied softly. “You got in a bad fight.” There was a touch of scolding in the voice, and it immediately made Corey feel guilty for going to the bar in the first place. That was it, the bar, that’s where he’d been, he’d been at…

Corey slowly noticed a pinch in his palm, and realized that it must be the lip ring digging into his skin. But that meant…   
He didn’t want to unclench his fist. Didn’t want to see if it was all in his head, didn’t want to see nothing but his bleeding, marked up palm.

“You know who you can show it to,” Paul had said. He had to have meant Jim.

“Paul,” Corey whispered. Jim nodded simply.

“That’s what started the fight?” he prompted quietly, putting a hand on Corey’s shoulder comfortingly. Corey shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again. Where could he even begin? He was uncharacteristically silent now. Jim sighed. “They’re calling you a hero, you know.” Corey opened his eyes wide and looked at the guitarist in confusion.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yeah. That guy you fought – the one you knocked out,” Corey stifled the urge to correct him, “He was a fugitive. He was being hunted for killing his girlfriend.” The singer blinked.

“His girlfriend?” Jim wordlessly reached over to the table next to Corey’s head – it had to be a hospital room he was in, the singer deduced – and picked up a newspaper. The headline: MAN SOUGHT IN DEATH OF DRAKE STUDENT, 19. The smiling photo on the page was unmistakable – Gina Kennedy. “Can you hand me that?” Corey asked desperately, trying to sit up, needing to figure this out and wrap his mind around it. 

_DES MOINES –  
Drake University students held vigil today for their fallen classmate, 19-year-old Gina “GeGe” Kennedy, who was found dead early this morning. Kennedy was a sophomore Marketing major at Drake, a member of the Tri-Kappa Sorority, and played bass for the school marching band.   
Kennedy’s facebook profile was overwhelmed by condolences and messages, an eerie parallel to her last status message, “Say it again – we won’t die! R.I.P. Paul D. Gray, #2” on May 25th.   
Michael West, 22, originally of Cedar Falls, is being sought in her murder. Police allege that West murdered Kennedy after years of abuse, set off by Kennedy breaking up with West on the 25th.   
Police ask anyone who has seen Michael West to contact the local police department, or the Crime Stoppers tip-line.  
_

“Holy shit,” Corey said, his finger rubbing at the words, as if they would cease to be there if he rubbed hard enough. 

“Can you believe it? A fan, too,” Jim said sadly. Corey locked eyes with him. Would he ever believe it?

“You know who you can show it to.” 

“Jim,” Corey whispered. “Hold out your hand.” The guitarist obeyed, and Corey wordlessly placed into his hand the single piece of metal that said all that he could not.


End file.
